


where you gonna run to

by LymeandCoconut



Series: canon, but slightly to the left [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bickering, First Kiss, M/M, attempted humor, my first time posting on here oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LymeandCoconut/pseuds/LymeandCoconut
Summary: “Why did you kiss me?”Crowley choked on an oyster.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: canon, but slightly to the left [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605481
Comments: 36
Kudos: 350





	where you gonna run to

“You could have done _something_!” Crawly snarled. His drenched hair whipped in an arc as the demon rounded on Aziraphale. “You could have at least _tried_!”

“ _I saved as many as I could!_ ” the angel cried all at once. 

The words had no sooner exploded out of him than Aziraphale looked stricken over saying them, guilt and horror scrawled on every inch of his face. Crawly stopped, letting the water soak through his clothes while he stared dumbly at the angel in front of him. 

“What?” he whispered. 

Aziraphale glanced over both shoulders, quickly, then edged closer. “I managed to convince a few of the villagers to leave as fast as possible,” he confessed, wringing his hands harder than he ever had before. “And I - I secreted a handful of children in the boat.” His face was anguished, visibly teetering between shame over disobeying the Plan and shame over not saving more. 

“Oh, I don’t even know if it will do any good, and maybe I’ve ruined everything, but I _did_ -” 

He broke off then, quite understandably, as Crawly surged across the remaining space between them, took the angel’s head between his hands and kissed him soundly. 

If asked, Crawly could not have explained what he was thinking, what propelled him against Aziraphale’s mouth, only that it was irresistible and inescapable. Maybe inevitable. He would _not_ have agreed to call it ineffable, however. 

Whatever you called it, the angel’s mouth was warm beneath the chill of the rainwater, softer than anything Crawly had ever felt, sweet as honey, and the press of it beneath his own sent sparks of fire down the demon’s spine. Aziraphale gasped, but for some strange reason didn’t shove him away. 

_What the **fuck** are you doing_, Crawly’s brain ineffectually screamed, lost in the rush of the angel’s mouth hesitantly parting, just a sliver of welcome that he recklessly took. Groaning deep in his chest, the demon shuffled closer, eased the tip of his forked tongue across Aziraphale’s bottom lip, petitioned for entrance to the well of holy warmth waiting inside, and felt a tug on his hair as if fingers were tangling in the long strands. 

Thunder crashed, deafeningly loud, directly overhead, and the pair guiltily jumped apart. Crawly gasped for breath, waiting to be struck down where he stood - either by Aziraphale or the Almighty Herself, for daring to defile an angel. 

The angel - the angel he’d _kissed_ \- stared back at him, and the hand that had just been clutching at Crawly’s hair distractedly touched the mouth he’d turned bright pink. Crawly licked his lips, tasted rain and honey. Panic was really and truly starting to set in now. 

“Let’s never talk about this again,” Crawly blurted out. 

Aziraphale looked tremendously relieved, nodded briskly. “Ex-excellent plan.” 

“Good.” Crawly bobbed his head a few too many times. “Stay, uh, stay safe, angel.” 

The demon and angel looked at each other one more time, then turned and fled in opposite directions. 

_—–_

“Why _did_ you kiss me?” 

Crowley choked on an oyster. 

Aziraphale obligingly slapped him on the back, offering such useless banalities as “there, there” and “that’s a good chap” while Crowley coughed into his fist. 

When his airway was no longer obstructed by shellfish, the demon glared at Aziraphale over the top rims of his glasses, certain that, despite his sympathetic pout, the angel had done that on purpose. 

“I thought we agreed not to talk about it?” Crowley bit the words out through a clenched jaw. 

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale fussed with his wine cup, did something haughty with his eyebrows and mouth. “It has been three thousand years, and one can’t help but be… curious.” His pale eyes glanced sideways at Crowley, uncomfortably honest as they pierced into the demon with, yes, curiosity. And something a little more vulnerable in the purse of his lips that kept Crowley from outright snapping at him or simply leaving. 

Leaving sounded ideal just now, but it would hurt Aziraphale, and bless him to Heaven but that was one thing he couldn’t do. 

Instead, Crowley propped his elbows on the table, curling protectively around the harebrained heart wildly racing away inside his ribcage. He fiddled with a dry crust of bread and avoided Aziraphale’s inquisitive gaze. 

“Why do you _think_ I kissed you?” 

Aziraphale leaned in, lowering his voice to impatiently insist, “If I _knew_ , I wouldn’t have asked, would I?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. Tried to sound bored rather than terrified. “Take a wild guess, angel. Why do people _usually_ kiss each other?” 

“We aren’t exactly _usual people_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale replied tartly. He lifted his cup for a drink, looking uncomfortable. “You’re a demon.” He paused significantly. “A temptation demon.” 

Outrage overtook anxiety, causing Crowley to sit up straight and stare, mouth hanging open. “I - it - what - I wasn’t _tempting_ you.” Crowley forgot he didn’t have long hair anymore and tried to indignantly flip it over his shoulder as he slumped down in his chair, sulkily folding his arms. He looked away and muttered, “Pretty rubbish temptation, anyway.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale poked at his oyster shells. “Was it… not very good, then?” 

Crowley could feel his cheeks turning bright red and he _loathed_ it. Across the restaurant, several people shouted and spat as their wine turned into vinegar. “Can’t really say,” the demon reluctantly mumbled. “Only time I’ve ever kissed anybody.” 

There was such a lengthy silence that Crowley finally turned his head, preemptively glaring at the mockery he expected to find. 

Aziraphale was _beaming_ at him. “Oh, my _dear_ ,” the angel said tenderly. 

Crowley sank so far down in his seat he nearly slithered onto the ground. “ _Shut **up**_ ,” he groaned, covering his blazing face with both hands. 

“Darling, you could have _said_ some-” 

“Nope,” Crowley interrupted. He clawed his way upright with difficulty. “Abso _lutely_ not. I am not talking about this, we are not talking about this, this is not being talked about.” The demon’s stick-like legs tried to wobble out from beneath him, but Crowley made it to his feet. “Thanks for the oysters, see you next century, hail Satan, et cetera. I have an appointment to get positively shit-faced and I just can’t be late. Ciao.” 

Crowley had to shove through a pack of angry customers yelling about the wine, but he managed with nothing more than a few expertly-applied pointy elbows and, alright, possibly a sudden onset of gout in one particularly loud old man. Point was, he got out the door, gasping at the fresh air and pressing a hand to his spinning head. This really could _not_ be happening. 

Fingers wrapped around Crowley’s wrist and spun him about with surprising strength; that was all the warning the demon received before Aziraphale’s other hand cupped the back of Crowley’s neck, holding him in place as the angel kissed him very, very thoroughly. 

Crowley made a strangled noise of hysteria, but his corporation didn’t seem to care. Both the demon’s hands fisted in Aziraphale’s toga, dragging him closer, before sliding around the angel’s waist and _oh_ , he was _holding_ Aziraphale, their bodies were pressed flush together in the sunlight and Aziraphale was _kissing him_. An unfettered whimper curled out of his throat when the angel sucked Crowley’s lower lip into his mouth. 

Aziraphale let it drag free with a scrape of his teeth, and Crowley’s knees went weak. He slumped into Aziraphale’s sturdy grasp, maybe, a little bit. 

“Fuck,” Crowley rasped. His glasses were dangling off one ear. 

The angel smirked, his eyes warm and appraising. “If you’d like.” 

Crowley dropped his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder with a feeble groan of protest. “Ngk.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Deepest of shout outs to my qpp @pathsofpassion, without whom this, and quite possibly I, wouldn't exist.  
> And, while this sounds like total bullshit but is in fact literally the truth, thanks to Wil Wheaton for helping me with the title.


End file.
